I Know You Know My Name
by Arsosah
Summary: Not every story has a happy ending.
1. Chapter 1

**I Know You Know My Name**

I know you know my name. I have heard you say it a million times. I have heard you say it with admiration - like I'm a good big brother. I have heard you say it when you're scared and need me. I have heard you say it when you're happy, during good times.

Soda. Sodapop.

I have heard you say it with a thousand different emotions. I have heard you say it so many times that I can even hear you say it now, when no sound comes out from your mouth, when you stare up at that ceiling.

I really know you know my name, Pony.

You said it the first time when you were one and I was four. You said Soda, before you could say Darry. And I remember it, 'cause I was so proud of you that day. Proud of me too, 'cause I was the one sitting in front of you on the carpet, teaching you.

"Say Soda," I told you, staring at you, and you looked back at me with those big green eyes, all serious, and your hand gripped around the little red toy car you had been given on your birthday.

"Say S-o-d-a," I tried again.

And then you did.

Soda.

I taught you to say Darry too, but that was later and not as special. There was something special about hearing my own name from my kid brother. I think I already knew how you would see me as you grew up, and I promised myself to never let you down.

I taught you a lot of things. I taught you how to drag a chair over the kitchen floor, to climb up on the counter to reach the cookies in the jar. I might have blamed you when Mom found out the cookies were missing, but Pony, I was only a kid too.

And Mom was not really mad anyway. She never was. Not at you.

I taught you to keep real quiet when we played hide-and-seek. You didn't want to hide alone, so I always hid with you, and we put our fingers over our mouths, to know to keep quiet. We used to hide so well not even Two-Bit could find us. At least until I got bored, sitting hunched somewhere. So we lost the game, and it was my fault. But you never even blamed me.

I taught you to ride a bike. You got my old one, and I got Darry's that summer. Darry didn't get a new one, but he said he didn't want one anyway, and he sat on the porch, watching us. I think you were six years old, or maybe seven, and you had lost both of your front teeth.

"It's too hard," you said, but I told you to just keep your balance. And you whined a lot and you fell and got this wound on your knee, but as soon as Mom put a band-aid on it, you were up in the saddle again.

I think you still have the scar.

God, I hate your scars, kiddo.

Please say my name.

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_This story will probably be short, with short chapters and random updates. I think. My prio will be On a Long Road so this won't affect the updates on that one.  
_

_Please review!_

_I don't own The Outsiders._


	2. Chapter 2

**I Know You Know My Name**

I remember holding you, the day Mom came home from the hospital. You were so tiny in my arms, wrapped up in that blanket. My baby brother.

Darry held you first. I remember standing next to you, on the floor close to the couch, thinking you shouldn't be Darry's brother too. It wouldn't be fair. He already had _me_, he didn't need another one, didn't need two baby brothers. I didn't want to share you.

I remember thinking Mom should give you back when you only screamed and screamed and never stopped.

I remember sneaking up to the crib when you were finally asleep, letting your hand grip around my finger, grip around my heart. And then I knew, Ponyboy. I knew you were special.

When you got older we shared a room, and you came to my bed some nights. I heard you pad over the floor, and I let you lie down next to me, soothing away your nightmares. Sometimes I told you stories - then we sat with my blanket over our heads, your warm body pressed against mine, a flashlight in my hand and you hardly even breathed. You always had a special way to listen. Like what I said was all that mattered. You made me feel special, too. You have always made me feel special.

I know some people see me as dumb; a drop out who couldn't finish High School. In a way they're right. I know I ain't good with words; there are so many I don't understand and I can't even spell them right, but every time I talk to you, I know they _mean _something. My words. I can tell you anything and you will listen.

Sometimes I think the responsibility you expect me to have is too much. Darry is a better adult; I know you shouldn't listen to everything I say. I give you crappy advice. I let you get away with anything. I don't think too much. But Pony, some things I say I really need to tell you. And I hope you will listen now, even if I ain't sure you can really hear me.

I tell you this, and I know it will sound sappy, but there was a time when I was real glad for my looks. Even if people thought of me as dumb when I talked to them, I could always flash them a smile and then it seemed like they forgot about it.

I don't smile much these days, Pony.

I do it sometimes. People come to the DX to put gas in their cars and let Steve check their engines, and afterwards they come into the shop to buy Coke or Pepsi, cigarettes or magazines, and they walk up to the counter to pay. I can see them watching me as they search their wallets or pockets for money, and I try to strain myself 'cause I know what they will say.

They say _Sorry._

I don't know how sorry they are, though, if they really mean it. If they even know you. So I only stare, until they shift their weight to their other foot. Asking, _Will he get better?_

And that's when I smile, Ponyboy.

It's so false I even cringe myself, and I just wait for them to point with their fingers, calling me a liar, but they never do. They just wait. I guess they are so used to it, me smiling I mean, that they never even think of it as an act. But I smile, and I push the button to the cash register and it opens with that little sound and I look up.

"Yeah," I say to them. Smiling. "'Course he'll get better."

And I take their money and give them their change and watch them slip out into the real world before I break down over the counter. Sometimes work is so hard, but you know we need the money. All the goddamn money in the world.

And you will get better, won't you, kiddo? So maybe my smile ain't a lie after all.

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_Thank you so much for your support to this story! I really hope this chapter didn't disappoint. _


	3. Chapter 3

**I Know You Know My Name**

Everywhere I look the world is white.

Our house. The snow that falls. The sky. Their clothes. The walls and ceiling in your room. Your pillow. Your sheets. Your face.

I know we're caucasian, Ponyboy, but a face shouldn't be that pale. Arms shouldn't be that thin. Eyelids shouldn't be so shut.

Sometimes you look up, though, but never at me. You only stare. Up. I wonder what you see up there 'cause there is nothing to look at. Only white. Sometimes I just want to paint that fuckin' ceiling, give you some colors. Paint you a sunrise. I know you always watched them before; maybe it would be a good thing giving them back.

I have done it too, now. Watched sunrises I mean. I can never sleep these nights anyway, so it's no big deal to sneak out and sit on the porch, watching the new day arrive. It's cold out now, but I don't care. I try to see what you saw, the beauty I guess, but I don't, really. It ain't beautiful. It just mocks me, tastes like ash when I drag smoke down my lungs.

I smoke your cigarettes.

There's no beauty in the new day anymore. No life. Nothing to laugh about. Sometimes I don't know how to go on.

Maybe if I could show you a sunrise but your window faces north. Faces big ugly grey buildings. I tried to make them move you but they said they couldn't. You need to remain here. They say they are the experts but why can't they fix you, then?

I think they don't care. They don't even know you. You're just another kid in the ward.

They come and talk to Darry. I guess they talk to me too, but I just sit beside your bed, holding your hand, refusing to listen. When I glance at Darry, I see him stand with his arms crossed; his face serious; nodding now and then at their words. Like he understands it all but I know he doesn't.

I want to scream at him not to listen to them. They are so wrong and both you and I know it. But I don't. I don't scream. I just hold your hand, wishing you would open your eyes, and when you do, wishing you would close them again so I can pretend you're just asleep.

Just asleep.

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_Thank you so much for reading!  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**I Know You Know My Name**

This is still so unreal. All the days going by, and I still can't do this.

I see how you breathe, I know you're alive. But you're not _here_, and I don't know how to manage without you.

I don't know how Darry will manage either. I know he can seem strong, I know he looks like he might be holding everything together; cooking dinner and paying bills and taking care of all the responsibilities. Taking care of things. Everything I can't do, he does. But I hear him, Pony. The walls in our house, they're thin, you know. I hear him during the nights. And he ain't strong.

I don't know what will happen to us if you don't come back, and it scares me.

Fourteen years, it ain't enough. Fourteen years, it's all I can think of. I remember everything. I remember Mom coming home with you. I remember your little red toy car and your favorite blanket. All of the ghost stories I told you, all those times we played hide-and-seek at home and football at the vacant lot. How your cheeks flushed red, how you smiled. How you sounded when you laughed.

I know how you want your eggs for breakfast and your chocolate cake. I know you thought mine had too much sugar in the icing. I don't add so much anymore, Pony. I think you would have liked them better now.

I remember every straight A on your report cards, your plans for college. You wanted it so badly. I know you still want it, you can still go. But you have to wake up for that. Open your eyes and see me.

I think of all the times you stood reading magazines at the DX, waiting for my shift to end so we could walk home together. Everything we talked about. How you glanced at me while telling me things, as if asking for my approval. But you always had my approval, you know that.

How we saw you running. Hitting the goal on the track field. Your torn sneakers. Remember how you loved to run? You have always been pretty small but not like this. It's like you whither now. But you'll shape up. You'll be able to run again.

Books. Your own books, library books. Everywhere books and drawings, papers with things you wrote. Do you hear me when I read for you? 'Cause I do, you know. Yeah, you can hear me, I know you do. I just make sure no one else does. When we're alone, I read.

You have done so much and still so little. Fourteen years when you were supposed to have eighty. The smell of cigarettes are gone now, you haven't had one for so long. I know they aren't good for your health, but you smell so different now. Not like you used to.

I remember you swallowing aspirin. God, Pony, I don't want to think about that ...

_My head hurts, Soda_

Your words echo in my mind every day. I hear you say them, over and over. Even when you can't talk anymore, I hear you say them.

_My head hurts_, _Soda_

You always had headaches. Always swallowed those aspirin. I know the can emptied too fast - you took too many - but it was always just a headache. Always.

_My head hurts, Soda_

The last time you said my name. I lied close to you in bed then, and I asked you what was wrong when you whimpered, and you turned your head, just slightly, eyes closed in the dark. _My head hurts, Soda_.

I had heard those words so many times before. So many times, that I stopped worrying.

"Take any aspirin?" I asked you.

_Yeah_, you said. _Three_.

"Go to sleep," I told you. "You'll feel better in the mornin'." 'Cause you always did. Always.

I'm so sorry, Pony. They say it doesn't matter that we didn't rush you to the hospital. They say it would have been too late anyway. They say the bleeding already had started, the one that shut down your brain, making you alive but not living, sleeping but not asleep. Making you stare up at that ceiling, not able to say my name.

Sometimes I wonder if it was because of that time the Soc tried to drown you. Because of that kick in your head at the rumble. The concussion you had.

Or maybe it is like they say, just a fuckin' tickin' time bomb in your head, that was there for all of your life.

_It could have happened at anytime_, they said to Darry, solemn faces, white clothes, talking about just another boy, just another kid in their ward. _Things like this just happen sometimes. There's nothing we can do. _

It can't be you. I know they're wrong. I know.

I sit holding your hand, tighter, staring at your face.

And you open your eyes.

"Pony," I whisper.

But you don't answer. You don't say my name.

.

.

_Maybe, just maybe..._

_you don't know it anymore_

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_Thank you so much for reading and all reviews! _

_This was the last chapter. Remember I warned you, no happy ending :(  
_


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